


it’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere

by JewFlexive



Series: look: i am still alive (in fact, in bud) [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: ALSO rumple is sort of a socialist? we have no choice but to stan, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Badass Women, Belle kicking ass and taking names, Emma did not sign up for this shit, F/M, Feudalism is Bad, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Jefferson is Henry's wine aunt, Politics, Regina is a good mom, Rumplestiltskin was a peasant first, Shady Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Worldbuilding, again it's up in the air, but also be prepared for it... not to, but this is just season one, featuring charming as a class traitor, madqueen may or may not be endgame because I really do like robin, no beta we die like baelfire won't, outlaw queen may still reign, so don't lose hope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:55:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22166749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JewFlexive/pseuds/JewFlexive
Summary: In a moment of weakness, Cora tells a grieving Regina that she could (should) have been Rumpelstiltskin's daughter. Armed with this knowledge and a strange sort of sympathy, Regina faces the Dark One on her own terms. This changes some things, but not nearly enough.{Featuring: Rumpelstiltskin and Regina as the family they always should have been, a Belle that is free to make her own choices, a highly conflicted Emma Swan, and a good old-fashioned peasant revolt.}
Relationships: Baelfire | Neal Cassidy/Emma Swan, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Evil Queen | Regina Mills & Henry Mills, Evil Queen | Regina Mills & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Henry Mills & Emma Swan, Henry Mills & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Series: look: i am still alive (in fact, in bud) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629949
Comments: 55
Kudos: 111





	1. here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

**Author's Note:**

> In which Regina mourns, Cora tells a story, and Rumplestiltskin learns that he is not infallible.

Regina has stolen a horse from her mother, has disobeyed twelve direct orders of one sort or another and has missed another dress fitting, and yet her mother’s reaction is not the thing that scares her the most, not now. No, now Regina is staring at the gates of the Dark Castle, willing her stallion not to bolt and praying that, if he does, she’ll have the strength not to follow him.

This venture had seemed like such a good idea at the time. 

(Regina had been in the library, curled up in a window seat and weeping bitterly. Princess Snow White and her odious father both were still enjoying her daddy’s hospitality and would until the dreaded nuptials, and the library was perhaps the only place in the castle that both Snow and her father had little interest in. King Leopold was all too fond of good food and fine wine to care for much else-- except his _darling_ daughter of course-- and Snow was too busy chasing butterflies and killing True Loves to bother with books. Regina herself only mildly enjoyed reading, but after burying Daniel, the little window seat in the back of the Economics section was the only place that afforded Regina even a small measure of comfort.

Unfortunately, in Regina’s grief, she had forgotten that Cora had ousted her dear husband from his own taxation council and was now of the vocation of finding forgotten legal precedents that would allow their family to tax their vassals even more. Cora had therefore made the Economics section of the castle library into a little kingdom all her own, and when she emerged from the stacks to behold the interloper that was her ever-disappointing daughter, Regina could see that she was hardly pleased. 

Yet, even as Regina braced for a tirade, standing up abruptly and furiously swiping tears off of her cheeks, Cora made a queer little sound in the back of her throat and sat in the window seat herself, slowly easing Regina down next to her and holding her daughter to her breast.

Regina’s mother had these moments of sentiment once or twice a year, and each time they left Regina reeling, but she was so utterly heartsick and aching that she eagerly lapped up the attention and comfort Cora offered her, burying her face in her mother’s neck as her shoulders shook.

Cora stroked Regina’s hair slowly and let her cry, and the two sat in near silence for five minutes as Regina calmed herself. Then, Princess Cora spoke, her voice soft and lilting as she whispered her story into her daughter’s ear. 

“I was in love once,” Cora told Regina, and the melodic tone in her mother’s voice was eerie and hazy, making the story feel all at once too elusive to grasp and so real that she shivered. “I was so in love that I could have wept from it, could have left everything I had ever wanted in the dust just for a few moments in his arms. He was so strong and passionate, proud, too, a little too proud, come to think of it, but he had this quiet kindness to him, this glimmer of pure goodness that made me think that I could be happy, _truly_ happy for once in my life.”

Regina pressed her lips together to keep herself from asking the hundreds of questions that had leapt to her tongue, unwilling to break this uncharacteristically benevolent spell that Cora had taken to casting.

“He wanted me,” Cora’s voice was tinged with a sort of happy wonderment that Regina had never heard before, something rare and lovely and delicate. “He wanted me so badly that he amended his deal with me, something he had never done before. He whispered such promises into my ear, wove such stories that I had no choice but to believe him when he offered me the world as a bride-price. He kissed me so often and so _perfectly_ I thought I might go mad from wanting him too. Rumple was--”

Cora cut herself off, then, and Regina felt her mother tense beneath her cheek, felt the sympathetic mourner that had temporarily possessed Princess Cora’s body disappear, and new waves of grief washed over her. Cora pushed her daughter off of her chest and tilted her chin up, their dark eyes meeting, both pairs shining.

“Rumpelstiltskin offered me the world,” Cora didn’t shy away from her lover’s identity any longer, her eyes cold and flinty as she lectured Regina. “But in the end, all he could _truly_ offer me was himself-- a malformed, terrible creature hated by everyone and everything there is. And he even wanted me to bring you into that mess--”

Cora let out a trilling laugh and Regina winced.

“No,” Cora told Regina, sobering. “No, you were going to be Henry’s. You were going to be a _queen_ , not the Dark One’s spawn. Leaving a life of luxury and power behind could never have been worth his love-- any man’s love. You weep for your stable boy, but darling, you have no idea the favor I did for you. Better for me to crush his heart than for you to have to break it.”

Regina swallowed and nodded stiffly, rising to walk out of the room, her head spinning with all she had learned, but Cora’s hand whipped out and grabbed Regina’s wrist in a vice-like grip, halting her exit.

“You could have been his daughter,” Cora informed Regina, anger sparking in her dark eyes. “You could have been something hated, reviled and ostracized by everyone. When I took you from him, I made you a princess. I made you the future wife of a king. I sacrificed my happiness so that you could bear Leopold a son.”

Cora’s nails drew blood from Regina’s wrist, and she bit back a scream. Her mother smiled, all straight white teeth as she finally let her daughter go.

“Don’t disappoint me, dear,” Cora reminded Regina as she fled. “And wash your face before Leopold sees you. We wouldn’t want him to doubt your devotion, now would we?”)

Regina tries to remember why she’s here as she stares numbly at the gates, but as the enormity of her quest hits her, she is less and less sure of what she even wants to accomplish. Rumpelstiltskin is the nightmare that her nurse claimed would steal her away if she didn’t behave. Rumpelstiltskin is the monster that not one of the decorated and capable soldiers that her father entertains dares disparage, for fear of his bloody and painful retaliation. Rumpelstiltskin steals babies and massacres knights and drinks the blood of the innocent. 

Rumpelstiltskin loved her mother. Rumpelstiltskin could have-- _should_ have been her father. The rest of the myths seem insignificant in the face of these two stark truths. 

Cora has broken Regina irreparably, that much is certain, because Daniel is gone and the best parts of Regina, the parts full of hope and light and song are buried with him. Regina has a perverse desire, then, to see another person that Cora has broken, at least to remind herself that the poison is her mother’s, not her own.

Regina dismounts and ties her horse to a nearby post, whispering quiet, comforting nonsense to him to calm him down. This stallion is a docile one, but dark magic can turn even the sweetest, most even-tempered steed into a nervous wreck. Still, it takes all but two minutes for Regina’s horse to calm down completely, and she rewards him with an apple and a kiss to the center of his blaze. 

She marches up to the gates and they swing open for her before she can figure out if they were even locked. Regina swallows her nervousness, balls her hands into fists, and walks right into the Dark One’s lair.

* * *

She finds him in a great room decorated in sumptuous crimson fabrics and centered around an ornate wooden table made of fine, dark wood. He is sitting in a grand armchair facing her, his chin resting on his steepled fingers. They regard each other for one long moment.

Regina has heard stories about Rumpelstiltskin’s appearance, and none of them had agreed. Her nurse claimed that he was incorporal, a being of pure darkness and mist. Sir Avenant had told her that he was born with a long tail and stood eight feet tall. Snow White herself had eagerly informed Regina that Rumpelstiltskin was a talking dragon, not a man at all. But what Regina sees before her is none of those things. The Dark One is a slight man with curled, chin length hair of a mousy brown color, but what is ordinary about him ends there. His skin is a color somewhere between gold and grey and green, and the bumps and ridges catch the light in a way that shimmers as if he has doused himself in diamond dust. His nails are dark and sharp, and his eyes are a strange amber color that reminds Regina of burnished bronze.

He is by no means a handsome man, but Regina can at least imagine what Cora had seen in him.

Regina realizes too late how long she has been studying him silently and flushes with shame, quickly dipping into a curtsey, keeping her eyes glued to the ground.

“Ah, none of that, if you please,” Rumpelstiltskin’s voice is high and reedy, but if Regina listens closely, she can hear a slight strain in it, making her believe that his true voice is probably much deeper. “I like to be looked in the eye.”

Regina complies, squaring her shoulders and looking at him straight on. She has never been one to ignore a challenge, and it’s clear that Rumpelstiltskin’s request was made in the hopes of throwing her off balance.

 _Not today, Rumpelstiltskin_ , she thinks to herself, picturing the look on her own mother’s face as she crushed the heart of the only man Regina could ever love. _I’ve faced greater monsters than you_.

Rumpelstiltskin makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, almost approving, and looks her over, from head to toe, his eyebrows raised. After another tense moment, he leaps from his chair and all but prances towards her, stopping only when they stand an arms-length apart. 

“You’ve come earlier than I expected, which is a _most_ welcome surprise,” he trills, smiling wildly, his mossy teeth taking up half his face. “I had thought I would see Leopold’s ring on your finger by the time you were ready to come to me.”

“You… knew I was coming?” Regina asks, confused. Had he somehow known that Cora had divulged the truth?

“But of course!” Rumpelstiltskin informs her giddily, clapping his hands. “Benefits of the Sight, you know. So,” he pauses, as if for dramatic effect, the sleeve of his red silk doublet swinging merrily as he gestures with his hands, and for all that Regina is still confused and tired and more than a little terrified, she is charmed. “Are _you_ ready to learn some magic?”

Regina’s jaw drops.

“What?” She all but screeches, taking a step backwards. “Magic? No, no, I just wanted to talk to you.”

Rumpelstiltskin cocks his head to one side, wrinkling his nose petulantly. 

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Regina struggles to maintain her composure as his strange eyes bore into what feels like her very soul. “Yes, I just recently learned something about the two of us and,” she pauses, considering. She spies two armchairs situated before a fireplace and makes a split second decision, walking over to the one facing away from the door and brazenly taking a seat. She gestures to the seat facing her before turning to once more look at the dark sorcerer who, in another life, would have been her father and, in this life, lost the woman he loved. 

“Won’t you sit?” she entreats, stifling a mad giggle at the dumbfounded expression on Rumpelstiltskin’s face. He seems more shocked by her confidence rather than angered by it, but he rallies quickly and doesn’t allude to her rudeness even once, even managing a stiff, awkward bow as he takes the seat she offered him. She has to suppress a smile-- _quiet kindness_ indeed. “I believe we have a great deal to discuss.”


	2. because i hoard the common currency of longing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rumpelstiltskin makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: “An Coineachan" is a famous Gaelic lullaby. Since season 6 leaned into the Scottish lullaby as a remnant of Rumpelstiltskin's past, so did I.

There is a fire to this girl that Rumpelstiltskin, for all his foresight and cleverness and spying, did not anticipate. 

Here he had been expecting a grief-stricken, oh-so-malleable lady wearing a snow white nightgown and a deceptively innocent expression. Here he had been expecting a monster-in-waiting stumbling over the syllables of his name, pilfering grimoires of magic and expecting solutions to fall into her lap. Here he had been expecting an unwilling bride of a king.

Well, Rumpelstiltskin has it on good authority that Regina’s bed still remains her own. She is no king’s wife, not yet-- but damn it all if this girl is not a queen.

If Rumpelstiltskin still had his heart (which he doesn’t, not anymore, not since Cora ripped out her own and smiled that traitorously empty smile, not since Milah’s turned to gray gray dust in his clenched hand, not since his beautiful boy fell screaming through green light and landed somewhere too far for his papa to reach) he might feel a flicker of sadness, of bone-deep exhaustion, of terrible loss. _Look at her_ , he would think if he could. _Look at this firecracker girl with her blue blue blood. Look at you, little thief. You stole all your mother’s dreams and made off with what was left of mine._

She’s a fucking tragedy, this girl who is leaning back in his armchair and studying his hall as if she owns the place. Rumpelstiltskin had already made his peace with twisting a heartsore noblewoman into the evil he needs. But Rumpelstiltskin knows himself (how can he not, when it has been just him all alone for years and years and years with only his failures for company) and he knows that Regina’s fire is one type he doesn’t want to extinguish. He wants to feed it, wants to teach it to burn down corrupt noblemen’s castles and warm poor peasant hearths. He doesn’t want to turn this spark into a deadly inferno that will destroy her as much as it will destroy their world.

But this is for Bae, it is for Rumpelstiltskin’s only joy, his darling son whose only crime was to be born to a coward who was never good enough, never deserving. For Bae, Rumpelstiltskin would ruin hundreds of Reginas. For Bae, Rumpelstiltskin already has.

He sits in response to the princess’ invitation, bowing awkwardly as he does, and that’s good, that centers him. He’s played this game before, he’s stroked the egos of the nobility often enough to get exactly what he likes. Regina smiles at him, pleased, and Rumpelstiltskin is struck with disappointment. He hadn’t gotten the impression that she was the type to appreciate subservience, but she is, of course, Cora’s daughter.

“I believe we have a great deal to discuss,” she tells him, brushing a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “Though I realize now that I might have sent word.”

“No matter,” Rumpelstiltskin replies, leaning forward. He is intrigued, and his fingers itch for something to toy with. “Though I do wonder what King Leopold’s intended is doing here with the likes of the Dark One.”

Regina’s jaw ticks and she looks away. _Ah_ , he smirks inwardly. _Now I have you, little thief._

“I will not be defined by _him_ ,” she snaps, and there is the Evil Queen, there is the venom that Rumpelstiltskin needs. “He’s a lecherous fool and I won’t speak of him.”

“Oh of course, dearie,” Rumpelstiltskin titters. “But your wedding will certainly be a miserable affair if you won’t even address the groom.”

“It would be miserable for me no matter what I do,” Regina shrugs, and damn it, there that fire is again, and Rumpelstiltskin wants to scream. “So I’ll be damned if I make it any easier on anyone else.”

Well, that’s something Rumpelstiltskin can use. Regina is bleeding inwardly, she is hurt and she is lonely and wouldn’t it be nice, dearie, if everyone else was hurting and lonely too? 

He is thinking of all the new possibilities so earnestly that he misses what she says next, and it is only when she huffs petulantly (a sound that is _all_ Cora) and loudly demands he look at her that he even remembers that they were in the middle of a conversation.

“There you are,” A ghost of a smile graces Regina’s lips as he turns back to her. “You do seem-- well, if this is an inconvenient time, I can come back, if it would suit you better--”

“No!” Rumpelstiltskin and Regina both jump at his loud interruption. Grimacing at his unusually erratic behavior, he forcibly calms himself. “No, you wanted to speak with me. So speak, dearie, I’m listening.”

Regina wisely doesn’t comment that he hadn’t been listening a whit the entire time that she’s been here, and Rumpelstiltskin is somehow obscenely grateful.

Yet, for all her forthrightness the past few minutes, now Regina dithers, opening and closing her mouth more than a few times as she clearly tries to find the right words. Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t rush her. He has practice being patient.

“I’m sorry that you’re not my father!” Regina finally blurts out before turning bright red. She begins to stutter out an explanation for her non sequitur. “I mean, I’m sorry that Cora didn’t-- that she and you couldn’t-- that I’m not-- well, I don’t know.”  
  
She gives up and looks at him helplessly. Rumpelstiltskin doesn’t say a word, doesn’t dare breathe. _If you ignore it,_ one of the less intelligent voices of his curse suggests, Thyrion maybe, or perhaps Lord Georg, _it will go away._

 _Wipe her memory,_ Sir Thane suggests. _And put out that fire while you’re at it, too._

 _That’s not any fun!_ Asmodeus whines. 

_You could kill her painfully,_ Nimue adds hopefully. _That would work_.

Asmodeus agrees heartily, and Rumpelstiltskin has to work hard to push their rather loud brainstorming session to the back of his mind. He contemplates Sir Thane’s solution, but by the time that he has decided upon it, Regina has rallied.

“She told me that you loved her,” the princess tells him, her eyes wide and guileless and warm. “She told me that you loved her and she betrayed you. And I thought it was awful. That she’d been this cruel to someone else. That I wasn’t the only one. I’ve been feeling so alone, and… when she told me what she did to you-- well, I thought that maybe you were lonely too, and I wouldn’t wish this loneliness on just about anyone.”

Regina does something stupid, then, but she does it so softly and naturally that Rumpelstiltskin never once thinks to kill her for it. There is a glimmer of purity in Regina still, even after her mother’s machinations and her lover’s grisly demise. It is a type of purity that Rumpelstiltskin has only seen once before, in the eyes of a boy he loves beyond reason, a boy he loved to insanity. And gods, it breaks him in two, this uncorrupted Light, and he feels tears spring to his monstrous eyes, feels the lump of coal his heart has most surely become by now swell with a feeling he doesn’t dare name. In this moment, the future changes, shatters, and Rumpelstiltskin feels so very, very lost.

Regina takes his hand.

“I love my daddy more than anything else in the world,” Regina says. “But Mother has only brought him pain and shame and torment. I wish--” her voice catches, and Rumpelstiltskin (who is a father, who has always been a father, who sees a child that _should have been his_ in such anguish and misery, and _oh,_ she is so so beautiful, his little girl-queen, she should never have been made to fear so, who could do such a thing) squeezes her hand reflexively. 

She smiles at him, for real this time, and squeezes back, whispering a confession that tears them both in two. 

“I wish I had been yours,” tears leak from her eyes and Rumpelstiltskin resists the urge to brush them away with his thumb because she isn’t his, and isn’t this the worst sort of punishment, isn’t this exactly what Rumpelstiltskin deserves? “Everything would have been better if I had been yours.” 

She isn’t his, she isn’t, but they are both crying and hurting and missing someone long gone, so he opens his arms and lets her fall into them, lets her cry for a mother who hurts her and a love who died too soon. He whispers the false assurances and kind lies that only a parent can make seem real, smoothing a gnarled hand over her dark head. Between each _Why did she, What did I do to deserve, I loved him, I loved him, I loved him,_ Rumpelstiltskin murmurs his own fuzzy promises, promises of happiness and comfort and _it will be okay, just watch, I’ll make it all okay again, you’ll see._ He holds her close as she buries her face in the crook of his neck and together they grieve and rage and break. 

_She’ll never cast your precious curse now, will she?_ Nimue asks him, her sweet voice dripping with poison. 

For a split second, Rumpelstiltskin stiffens, afraid, but then Regina’s hand winds itself around his jerkin as she sobs harder and he is so focused on her, his almost-daughter with her midnight-deep hair and those raging wildfires dancing in her eyes, that Nimue is forced to retreat, though Rumpelstiltskin is sure he’ll get an earful soon enough. 

“I’m sorry,” Regina sniffs, still leaning on his shoulder. “I just feel so, so--”

Rumpelstiltskin just hushes her as she breaks down again (and how long has she been keeping this in, how long has she been afraid to feel-- if he ever sees Cora again, Rumpelstiltskin will _rip her apart_ ), rocking her back and forth, back and forth, humming “An Coineachan” in her ear until she finally calms.

She leaves an hour later, her eyes red but her smile as bright as sunshine. He doesn’t want her to go, wants to keep her safe from the world outside because he is Rumpelstiltskin and he never learns, but she promises to come visit after her wedding, so he waves her off and does his best to smile back reassuringly. He watches her ride away on the horse she must have stolen ( _little thief_ ) and can’t help it as a proud, giddy grin finally takes over half of his face. 

Possibilities swirl before Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes, but he is watching the little speck that is Regina and her stallion disappear into the horizon. He thinks about Bae’s laugh and Regina’s sharp eyes and hopes for the first time in centuries.

 _You can’t hold onto them both_ , Nimue hisses, _You can’t hold onto them both_.

 _I can_ , Rumpelstiltskin swears, clenching his fists, his eyes narrow and dangerous as they sweep over his tower room, as they pour over years of notes and theories and one worn scroll. _I will_.

_Just hold on, Bae. We’re coming._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this chapter!! I actually like this one a lot more than the one before, but I also really like writing in Rumpelstiltskin's POV and I love a good parenthesis so this is the most fun I've had in a long time.
> 
> A word about the bow at the end of last chapter and the beginning of this one because I'm annoying: If you read carefully, you'll notice that while Regina sees Rumpelstiltskin's bow as a kindness (protecting someone less powerful from embarrassment, showing a lady respect despite her lower position in such a patriarchal society), Rumpelstiltskin sees it as a concession he has to make to gain the trust of a nobleman, and in my story (and in OUAT canon, I'd argue) Rumpelstiltskin sees himself as a peasant despite the trappings of wealth he so ostentatiously displays. I'm really excited to write more moments like this-- where two characters have completely different understandings of the same event and have to work around each other's biases and motivations to make sense of each other. Anyhow. Regina and Rumpelstiltskin both have some learning to do.
> 
> As always, comments are really appreciated! I'm feeling really unmotivated recently, so they're a huge help.


	3. oh he’s a caution that reflection man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Regina gets married and Henry mourns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOME WORLD-BUILDING NOTES:
> 
> Estfalia: Regina's kingdom of birth, ruled by Prince Henry's eldest brother King Alfred of House Vestus. The Vestus line is said to have been founded by an elemental wizard who specialized in fire and reconquered the land from the ogres during the First Ogre War (in this fic, Rumpelstiltskin fought in the Second Ogre War and dealt for Belle during the Fourth) and was named king by a grateful populace. Because of this history, the Vestus family feels a close connection to the element of fire and its symbolism. Their family crest is a golden crown surrounded by flames. Estfalia is a relatively progressive kingdom, their women usually getting married after the age of twenty and their clerics are not given the same latitude as those in Andalusia and Alberell (King George's kingdom). The southern border of Estfalia (where Prince Henry's castle is) is a two days ride from the Dark Castle. Lucent is the capital city.
> 
> Andalusia: King Leopold's kingdom. Ruling dynasty is House Osdray, the third dynasty in the kingdom's history. The Osdray line is relatively new (it began with King Leopold's father) so much of Leopold's authority is reliant on the goodwill of the other noble houses. Andalusia is more conservative than other kingdoms, due in part to their close alliance with Alberell and the fairies. There is a cult of female purity for noblewomen, who often get married before the age of eighteen, and the right of First Night is held sacrosanct because of this fetishization of virginity and the old nobility's belief that lords/kings have the right to claim the purity of any woman beneath him in rank. Because Andalusia is incredibly powerful as an economic and military power, no kingdom is willing to censure some of Leopold's less-than-savory policies except for the kingdom of Beleret, led by King Midas of House Graecus, which is by far the richest kingdom in Misthaven/The Enchanted Forest.

(When Henry was fourteen years old, King Xavier, may he rest in peace, had pulled him into his office and sat him down in front of his desk, his mouth set in a grim line as he studied his youngest son with an appraising gaze. Henry had squirmed a little in his chair, his face beet red as he sat there in silence, trying in vain to determine what he’d done to earn his father’s ire this time (and Xavier _was_ his father, no matter what the lords whispered about his mother’s loose morals-- they had the same nose and chin and Henry was already growing into the Vestus family jawline and Henry was proud to be Xavier’s son, even if it seemed that the king would have _rather_ been cuckolded than have to acknowledge Henry as his own.) Henry had been excelling in his mathematics classes, already three levels above what Alfred had achieved when the crown prince was his age, and while he still hadn’t managed to hit the target more than twice a lesson, his archery teacher did say that his stance had been steadily improving. 

Before Xavier would backhand him or berate him or send him to bed without supper, he’d always make Henry explain why he was being punished. But Henry didn’t know why he had been brought into his father’s office, and he was floundering.

“You’re weak,” Xavier observed, his tone detached and cool as it sliced through the tense silence like a rapier. “Not spineless, no, not entirely, but soft. Pliant. Biddable.”

Henry swallowed but said nothing, staring at his feet. There was a scuff mark on his right boot that he’d have to take care to hide from his mother later. Perhaps after his history class, Henry could sneak back to his chambers before supper to change into a cleaner pair. 

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy!”

Henry’s head shot up so quickly he felt a muscle in his neck burn warm and sharp. He bit his lip to hold back a cry, but Xavier seemed unconcerned, his cold eyes still studying Henry carefully.

“You’re weak,” Xavier repeated. He paused for a moment, then, resting his chin on his steepled fingers before continuing in what could be considered a conciliatory tone, if by _conciliatory_ one meant _less dispassionately than usual_. “But you’re not useless. If you were my heir, your weakness _would_ be a problem, of course, but that honor belongs to Alfred, thank the gods, and Victor and William are both decent enough spares should the worst happen. No, you’re intelligent, if not particularly clever, and personable enough to befriend most of the noblemen, even if you’ll never be able to charm their wives. Alfred might one day have to fight for his throne if one of your other brothers manages to secure enough support to steal it out from under him, but you pose no threat-- to any of them.”

“No, Your Majesty,” Henry replied obediently after a long pause, keeping his eyes lowered. “And I would not wish to. I have no desire to be king.”

Xavier leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. 

“You don’t, do you?” Henry’s father mused. “And not because you lack ambition-- the gods know that you work too hard in your lessons to be devoid of it entirely. It’s that thrice damned weakness. You’re too soft, boy, though your brothers will always thank you for it.”

“I’m not _weak_ ,” Henry bit out, suddenly too angry and too tired to swallow down his humiliation, his exhaustion, his fury. He was a Vestus, after all, and the fires of Estfalia burned in his blood as sure as they raged red hot in Xavier’s. He looked straight into his father’s eyes and stared the man down, unforgiving. “I’m _loyal_. There’s a difference. Being content with my lot in life and unwilling to spill blood for a throne I don’t covet does not equal _weakness_ , Father, and by mistaking restraint for timidity you reveal your own willful blindness. Just because you don’t understand why I do what I do doesn’t mean that what I do is meaningless. I am biddable to those who have the power to command me, yes, but I am no milksop, and you do our bloodline a disservice by accusing your own son of _weakness_.”

Henry was breathing heavily by the time he finished, his terror and his anger making his heart race and his hands tremble. But he set his jaw, determined, and refused to look away from the king, even as Xavier’s coal-dark eyes glittered dangerously. For a moment, Henry feared that his father would hurt him, knowing that Xavier kept a jeweled dagger at his hip at all times, and was grateful for the desk separating them. Henry was no archer, but he was the fastest boy in the castle, and could run away if necessary. He braced his hands on the arms of his chair, waiting. 

“Here’s some free advice, Henry,” Xavier finally hissed, his countenance frightening and wild. “If you wish to keep your _lot in life_ , you will remember that everything you have comes from me, not your brothers, not the knights, and not your whore mother. You should learn to tread carefully, because I did not see _restraint_ just now, I saw a cocksure weakling just begging to have his throat slit. I cannot prove that you are not mine, so you will remain a prince of Estfalia and be permitted the power and titles that your rank demands, but do not _ever_ lay claim to the Vestus bloodline again. You have no right to it, and you never will.”

“I am your son,” Henry protested, standing to his full height. A muscle in Xavier’s jaw twitched dangerously. “I am a Vestus. You cannot deny it--” 

“ _Leave_.”

Xavier’s voice was a cold fire, and Henry had shivered from the pure, unadulterated savagery in his father’s gaze. He took a step back automatically, the backs of his legs hitting the chair. 

Henry left. He would not be granted another private audience with his father until he was twenty-two and had a child of his own, a little girl with sparks in her eyes and molten gold running through her veins, another Vestus deserving of the name.)

Now, looking down at his daughter, his pride and joy, his beautiful baby girl who loves so fiercely and once laughed so freely, Henry fears his father (and Xavier _was_ his father, he was, he _was_ , though Henry still doesn’t know why that certainty matters so much to him, even now) might have been right about Henry, might have been right to call him weak. Regina (a good name, a _strong_ name, a name that means queen), the light of his life, the only thing that Henry has done right since he said his vows to Cora, is being sold to a man older than her own father and Henry-- Henry is going to let it happen. Henry is going to keep his mouth shut and eyes closed and _let it happen_. 

Regina’s hand is gripping Henry’s like a lifeline as they both look out over the sea of people crammed into the temple, her breath hitching as Princess Snow White waves cheerily at them both, bright eyes guileless and joyful. Henry lifts his daughters hand to press a soothing kiss to the back of it, and she turns to him, eyes wide and wet.

She opens her mouth to say something, and Henry expects her to say all manner of things. 

_I don’t want him, Daddy, I don’t, I could never. I want Daniel, Daddy, I want Daniel._

_I can’t do this, I can’t marry him, please don’t make me._

_How could you let this happen? Where is your strength? Your honor? Where is your love for me?_

_Why aren’t you stopping this? Why aren’t you stopping her? Why do you never stop her?_

_I hate you for this. I’ll always hate you for this._

_You’re weak, you’re weak, you’re weak._

Instead, Henry’s daughter displays a new sort of strength, something fragile and spiteful and glorious all at once, something that she found when she rode off south for four days and returned with a queer, secretive smile and red-rimmed eyes.

“I forgive you, Daddy,” she tells him, heedless of the Estfalian noblewomen behind them that make up her retinue. It doesn’t matter-- no one from their kingdom can deny the unseemliness of this match, the stark, unwelcome knowledge that Leopold was once betrothed to Regina’s own mother. The alliance between the Houses Vestus and Osdray might prove beneficial to both kingdoms, but even Alfred seems uncomfortable with the proceedings, shooting Henry and Regina sympathetic looks. But Leopold’s tastes are well known-- he might not have accepted an older woman in Regina’s stead, especially since Andalusia values female purity to a near fanatical degree. “I need you to hear me when I tell you that you are, and will always be, forgiven. I love you, and--”

“I don’t deserve it,” Henry cuts her off, a sharp, searing pain shooting through him as he takes in his daughter’s earnest expression, as he registers her unwillingness to assign blame where it is due. Cora is terrifying and powerful-- Henry learned long ago the price of disobeying her and has ceded most of his privileges and responsibilities to her in a bid to keep the peace, but Regina should have been enough to snap Henry out of his reverie, Regina should have been protected, and damn the consequences. “I should have stopped this. I should have stopped her, my darling, I should have--”

“I forgive you,” Regina repeats, her tone achingly gentle. She presses a petal-soft kiss to his cheek. “I love you and I forgive you. That’s all that matters. Please, please don’t torture yourself with _should have’s_. I forgive you. Do you hear me? This isn’t your fault.”

Henry wants to reply, to pick Regina up in his arms and spin her around like he did when she was six-years-old and walked on air. He wants to spirit her away from the temple, from Lucent, wants to find her a safe place to hide, wants to bring back her stableboy and see her smile again. But he can do none of those things because he is a prince and Cora is watching him with those sharp eyes and smile like a weeping wound and Leopold is walking towards them to claim his bride. All Henry can do before Regina is wrenched from his side and pulled under the arch made of branches (myrtle for marriage, wisteria for romance, olive for fruitfulness, and birch for new beginnings) and wreathed with flowers (ivy for fidelity, yellow poppies for success, blue hyacinths for constancy, and one dark crimson rose-- a brave cleric must have snuck the bloom into the blessing when no one was looking-- for mourning) is kiss the back of her hand once more and whisper a blessing, praying that, for once, the gods will be kind to Regina, will give his girl some happiness in the bleak life she is being forced into.

Leopold smiles his oily smile as the clerics bind their hands. Regina looks resplendent, all in white, but her beauty is a cold, untouchable thing. She recites her vows in a harsh monotone, ignoring both the indignation of the Andalusians and the fierce pride of the Estfalians. Her eyes burn as she looks at the cleric, as she surveys the crowd, as she looks anywhere but at the old man beside her. The whole temple watches silently as Regina is wed to the Lecher, bystanders of the worst sort, complicit in the princess’ (the queen’s) ruination.

Alfred looks at him helplessly as the Andalusians cheer for their new queen. The women behind him muffle cries. Princess Snow White cheers and laughs and makes a general nuisance of herself. Leopold looks his new wife up and down with a glint in his eye that makes Henry want to stab something. And Cora-- 

Cora smiles, slow and sinister. Cora smiles, and Henry hates.

(After the banquet, Henry is sitting alone in the library of the castle that will always be more Xavier’s than Alfred’s, studying maps of the lands south of Estfalia. Slowly, the truth dawns on him and a million puzzle pieces come together at once. Cora’s magic. The rumors that spread like wildfire prior to Henry’s wedding. The lurking fear in Xavier’s eyes. The cruelty that dripped like sun-sweet wine from Cora’s lips growing more and more unchecked. A heart in a box and Cora’s wet eyes the night before they were wed.

Regina is Henry’s, she is Henry’s in the clench of her jaw and the summer in her smile. She is Henry’s in her soft laughter and her love of horses. She is Henry’s in her coal-dark eyes and wildfire blood, in her Vestus nose and quiet dignity. 

But perhaps she was not supposed to be his. Perhaps….

He calls out the name of the man his childhood nurse swore would come snatch him away if he misbehaved. He calls out the name of the man who Cora calls for in her sleep. He calls out the name of the man who helped reignite that spark in Regina that Henry had feared smothered after she watched her stableboy’s body hit the ground.

The man appears before him, his face grim. He wears his ancient sadness like a cloak, his exhaustion like armor. 

“I’m her father,” Henry says. Tears prick his at his eyes, but the man does not comfort or admonish him for the display, just watches him carefully and silently as Henry takes a step towards him. “I’m her father. But that wasn’t enough to stop this.”

“No,” the man agrees. His voice is of the North. “But against Cora you could never be enough.”

He does not say this to Henry accusingly or angrily. He says it with a frankness that is gentle and jarring all at once. 

“Could you?” Henry asks, leaning back against a bookshelf. “Could you be enough?”

The man nods, his strange eyes glittering. Henry lets out a long breath. 

“I’ll take care of her,” the man promises him, his tone soft. “She may not be mine, but I’ll treat her as if she were. She could have no better protection than my love, Prince Henry, and I swear to you, she will have it.”

Henry sits back down, tired and relieved and feeling so, so old. He closes his eyes, tries to remember what it felt like to feel flames roar to life beneath his skin, tries to remember that headstrong fourteen-year-old who looked Xavier in the eye and lectured the old king on things like loyalty and blood, that earnest, clear-eyed boy who fought and burned and blazed. 

The problem with fires is that they always burn out. But this man is made of darkness, not light, so he cannot be smothered as Henry was, cannot be tamed and broken and turned to ash. 

“Good,” Henry murmurs, as the man hesitantly takes the seat beside him and sighs. “Good.”

They sit vigil until sunrise, the both of them exhausted and restless in equal measure. When light begins to creep into the room, Rumpelstiltskin stands, bows, and disappears without another word.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY THIS CHAPTER WAS SO HARD TO WRITE GUYS I'M STILL SORT OF SCREAMING ABOUT IT
> 
> I'm still not entirely happy about this chapter BUT I did want to post something so. Here it is. Please be kind. 
> 
> As always, comments are my lifeblood! Tell me what you liked!! Tell me what you didn't!! Give me literally anything, guys, I am a sucker for positive reinforcement. 
> 
> I hope everyone is safe and healthy <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everybody! Here's the deal: This AU has been brewing for three years and is still evolving. Updates may be infrequent, but I am so excited to get this out-- I'm really pumped for this fic and I hope all of you are too!


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